Your Mother and I
by keep-swinging
Summary: The only thing he can do now is end this war. End this war on his city and kill Zoom—phase his hand right through his chest. / barry-centric, bittersweet westallen, a bit of dark!barry/hurt!barry; extended scene to the ending of 2x22.


~Author's Note~

I was aiming to post this by Friday but instead I got a cold. Which is still with me today so I am sorry for this super delayed one-shot. But, anyway— Jesus that episode killed me. It killed me. The lasting message throughout the episode on how really no one is invincible—which I think the writers really did on purpose—was perfect. So all in all, I liked the episode. The title of this fic is inspired by Henry's last words, and by the words he didn't get to finish. There's no start without an ending.

Oh and before I forget; my predictions for tonight's season finale (and I haven't seen any spoiler nothing, just like two interviews of Grant talking about it) the Man-in-the-Mask is Earth-2 Henry Allen and Barry kills Zoom or Barry getting trapped somewhere. Now enough of me ranting; I hope you all enjoy the story and drop a review with your thoughts! They always mean a ton. :)

 **Rated Teen** for frequent language, scary moments and some violence.

 **Notes:** Takes place directly where 2x22 leaves off.

* * *

your mother and i

* * *

 _No._

It's the only word, the only thought, he can form in his mind—and it echoes through him like a repetitive beat on a drum. His shoulders tense, muscles bare valiantly like they are ready for _war_ , mouth open in a unending scream, veins pulsing violently—running, running, running—and the speed force _roars_ ; a horrifying beast set free from it's cage.

It turns dark, _it turns black_ , as it races through his arms, legs, junctions—it shoots through every muscle until everything feels like it's on fire—like all he's doing is dancing on flames in front of his father's dead body.

 _No._

Zoom—Jay, Jay, _Jay_ —says nothing as he drops Henry's body, letting it fall to the floor in a bloody heap, says nothing as he smirks. But to Barry, the smirk is all the answer he needs before charging towards Jay and slamming him into the far wall as hard as he can.

Jay laughs, low-pitched and tormenting, before easily shoving Barry off him and switching their positions—staring the other speedster down with a look of success. He raises a hand, proudly taunting it's pure _speed_ high in the air, before phasing it through Barry's lower ribcage.

He lets out a hiss, eyes scrunching up in pain as Jay shoves his hand deeper and deeper into his skin, before pulling it back out only after a scream tears from Barry's throat. Blood coats his hand like another glove as Barry gasps in agony— _every breath hurts_ _—_ every exhale causing his entire body to shudder. Jay grins, like a psychopath pleased with his doing, before speaking.

"Now you're me." He whispers, eyes sparkling with demonic rule, "Let the darkness out, Barry. Let. It. Out."

There are a lot of things Barry wants to say as he gazes at the face of his father's killer.

Some are wise, some are hateful, and one is a growl of _fuck you_.

But instead he spits a wad of spit and blood in Jay's face before muttering a few better-thought-out words. "I'll never become you." Jay's eyes flash pitch black before he grabs Barry by the arm and slings him across the room, the scarlet speedster crashing into the opposite wall with deadly force. Barry bites his tongue to stop a painful scream as Jay slips his mask over his head and looks over mockingly.

"No worries Flash," he calls out—and he's Zoom now but _he's always been Zoom_ —"I didn't hit any vital organs. Death isn't yours to take. Suffering is the only thing you're destined for."

Barry clutches at his lower stomach, and it feels like something's been ruptured; like something's been torn apart inside of him. He doesn't know if it's from the injury or from the body in front of him on the floor. Jay sighs loudly, dragging Barry's attention away from Henry's still-open eyes, before laughing. "I can see it in your eyes, Barry," he mumbles, "I can see it thrashing around inside of you. You say you won't become me. But the problem is, you already are me."

With a final laugh he runs from the room—from _their_ childhood household—to who knows where.

Barry doesn't really care where Jay goes, as long as he's gone and away from the scarce amount of loved ones he has left.

Closing his eyes, ripping his sight away from his father, Barry tries to recollect himself. To focus himself on what he knows as of that's second. Zoom is Jay Garrick, Jay Garrick is actually Hunter Zolomon—a sick son of a bitch bent on killing everyone the Flash loves, the Flash is hallowed out so fully now, Joe and Iris and Cisco and Caitlin and Wells and Jesse and Wally are in danger—will always be in danger if Zoom is to last, is to live—and Henry Allen is dead.

His father is dead.

Cold as ice. Unmoving. Stagnant. Dead.

The speed force is doing the opposite of mourning as Barry opens his eyes and covers the gash on his abdomen with one hand, before using the other to help himself crawl across the room. It takes a few tense seconds for Barry to reach him, and another fifteen for him to stop the instant wave of nausea that rears its ugly head, before he gently—ever so gently—pulls his father's head into his lap.

Barry cradles Henry like he's something holy.

He holds him like he's the one dying, the one who needs something to grasp onto, the one who's saying his last words. He holds him like he would any other day, in any other hug. He holds him the same way his father did when Barry had returned from the speed force; a hug that's snug and fatherly and sturdy and comfortable and _home_.

 _Home's not around anymore._

The tears cloud in his eyes abruptly, as he blinks a few times before using two fingers to cautiously lower Henry's eyelids and the sudden illusion of _he's just sleeping_ relaxes mutely onto the scene. It isn't until a lone tear falls from Barry's cheek and lands on Henry's wrinkled chin does Barry remember what's real . . . and what's fake.

A soft sob causes a tremor to ripple through Barry's body, and the noise booms far-too-loudly around the room.

"Dad." It's choked and heavy.

It reminds Barry too much of traveling back in time with the thought of _I'm gonna save her_ , only to witness his mother's death all over again for the second time. He still has nightmares about it every now and again; sometimes the Reverse Flash is too fast for him and stabs Nora fifty times instead of just once. Other times he sees himself ignoring his future-self and shoving his way past, saving his mom and saving the day. Most of the time, nothing changes and it's just like a broken record playing over and over again—and you can't fix a broken record.

The feel of his dad's blood is revolting to Barry, not that it's his but the fact that he's dead, and a part of him knows Cisco is going to kill him for getting blood on his suit. But, another part of Barry tells him Cisco won't mind. He sniffles, having a twisted memory of his father laughing at one of his corny jokes hitting him fully.

Barry decides to focus on that.

"That joke," he whispers hoarsely, "wasn't even funny you know, Dad. What's the Flash's favorite movie? The fast and the furious . . . " Barry trails off, remembering the moment so clearly. "It wasn't even that funny."

Henry had laughed loud, Cisco smirking, Wells rolling his eyes, Caitlin hitting Cisco in the shoulder, Joe smothering a laugh of his own, Iris smiling, Barry scoffing and shaking his head. Henry had loved it.

"Dad," Barry starts slowly, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't able to save you. I'm sorry that you were killed by some monster."

 _Let it out, Barry._

"I love you, Dad. I love you. I won't forget you and I promise no one else will get hurt because of me. I'll make sure of it. Jay isn't going to get away with this." Barry takes a breath and wipes the wetness from his eyes, leaning down and leaving a kiss on his father's forehead, before shakily standing up. He's covered in blood. In blood that's not his own. He positions one hand over the wound to slow the bleeding, before turning back to his father.

The illusion, the memory, throbs to the forefront of his mind.

 _He's just sleeping._

"He's just sleeping," his mother whispers when she finds her son staring worryingly at Henry from around the corner to the living room. When he turns to look at her, her smile is enough to reassure young Barry of anything.

"He looks dead." Barry comments bluntly, in his curious little seven year old voice, causing Nora to shake her head just as a loud snore leaves Henry from the other room—startling them both as it ricochets stridently down the hallway they're standing in.

Nora crouches down to her son's height, smoothing the shoulders of his wrinkled nightshirt down soothingly. "He had a long day at work today, honey. It's best to just leave him be." She murmurs tenderly, gently, as she tugs on his shirt.

Barry doesn't move, instead turning back to his father and staring for a moment. Nora knows what he's thinking. He's smart and she knows that he listens to the news when they have it on—she knows he hears when the anchor talks about mysterious killings of strangers in the street or murders of business men walking home from work—her son isn't stupid. He's smart and he's destined to do great things someday.

Though, the way he words his sentence unnerves her a little.

"Why would you say such a word, Barry?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, "the news has been talking about a yellow blur murdering people for weeks and I wanted to make sure it didn't get Dad."

The way her son talks about the matter sends a shiver down Nora's spine. She knew letting him listen in on the evening news stories was a bad idea because now he believed in the same nonsense the police fed the public—the stories they created when they for pushing her to allow her smart baby boy to listen in on such garbage.

"My beautiful boy," she says sensibly as she takes his tiny hand in hers, "your father is never going to leave you and I promise you that—he loves you too much to ever do such a thing." Barry beams brightly which causes Nora to smile too because just looking at her handsome little boy makes her happy. She was blessed. Henry and she were blessed to have Barry.

"Now, why don't we get you up to bed? I'll even read you your favorite book."

"The Runaway Dinosaur?" He questions eagerly.

Nora laughs and nods in reply. "The Runaway Dinosaur." She repeats before pausing for a moment to redirect her train of thought, "You know," Nora ponders, "You are my little runaway dinosaur, and your father's too—our very special little dinosaur."

"Am I a T-Rex?" Barry queries happily, but Nora shakes her head in answer.

"You are not a Tyrannosaurus; you're Bartholomew Henry Allen, and that's the best dinosaur out there. You are an Allensaurus, which is even better than a Stegosaurus." Barry laughs, giddy with vigor as they both start to make their way up the stairs.

When they make it to the last step on the top, Barry abruptly stops and turns to his mother.

"What's the matter honey?" Nora questions perplexedly, noticing the thoughtful look on her son's face. Barry shakes his head, looking up at his mother with determined eyes.

"Momma," he starts out slowly, "that yellow blur . . . I-I think it's looking for something—the way it's been moving and killing—it's looking for someone Momma, but I don't know who. I hope it's not me." He states it so surely Nora nearly believes him but she knows that even her smart little boy can't explain the odd things currently happening in Central City.

"Why would you think it's after you, Barry?"

Her son shrugs his shoulders again. "I'm a special Allensaurus, and maybe the streak is looking for someone special and it's me."

Nora sighs, "You don't need to worry about who it's after honey, because it's not after you and you will always been safe as long as I'm around." She lifts Barry up high in the air before settling him on her shoulder and waking into his bedroom.

"You'll keep me safe?" He resonances carefully, as she lowers him into his race car bed (that he claims he's too old for but loves anyway) and presses a motherly kiss to his forehead.

"Your father and I will always keep you safe honey, for as long as we live," she comforts as she pulls the checkered-race flag blanket over his body, making sure he's comfortable before reaching over and turning off the light, "I love you Barry."

"I love you too, Momma."

Barry shakes the reminiscence latched onto his mind after a few moments, knowing life isn't as simple as bedtime stories and goodnight kisses anymore. Directing his attention back down to his father, he feels the tears on his cheeks and the deep throbbing in his heart that can't be fixed by drugs or alcohol.

It hurts like hell and he can't stand it. It's happening all over again and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop it—he can't stop it. He knows he can't be found here, broken and bleeding, at his father's side so instead he says his final words. He says his final goodbye before he can't anymore.

There's no second chances this time, not like with his mom. There's no second chances.

"Goodbye, Dad. I love you and your little Allensaurus will never forget you. I'll make sure you are remembered."

 _Let. It._ ** _Out_** _._

Jay's voice hollers through his mind over and over again, and Barry can't seem to get rid of it. He resolves to run, to try and get away from the voices and blood.

After Barry flashes away, the house settles.

The wooden walks creak, the heater kicks on with a wheezing rattle, floors popping, windows squeaking, door hinges whispering and wind howling from outside but Henry's body stays still on the floor.

The house comes alive but Henry doesn't.

* * *

Barry finds himself at the Cliff.

The same cliff he nearly fell to his death at. He doesn't know why, but he's there and the chilly evening wind is causing his stiff bones to _stop_ and match the rest of his numb body. He takes a set on the edge, facing the deafening waterfall ahead and bottomless abyss below.

His injury is aching, like the constant tapping of drops of water on a frozen pipe. Clouds rest in the dark sky above him like hovering gravestones. Thunder bangs from far away. Lightning darts from fingertip to fingertip beneath his skin. Car engines rumble and rev from underground races.

He's there by himself for nearly an hour and a half before he hears the S.T.A.R Labs van pull up a few feet behind him.

He hears multiple footsteps barrel his way, the thump of their shoes resonant through his corked ears.

His eyes are stuck in an unmoving stare facing towards the rock walls, the rushing water. Warm hands—they're far too warm for him, he doesn't deserve the warmth they give him, the comfort they provide, and he deserves the cold he's sitting in—grab at his elbows, his shoulders, his sides and it isn't until he's turned around and facing the group of three people before him does he realize they have been calling his name repetitively; impatiently—apprehensively—waiting for an answer.

His ears pop as Cisco and Joe crouch next to him, the latter trying to get him to speak while the former goes to try and tend to his wound.

"Barry? Can you hear me?" Joe whispers cautiously, reaching out and running a hand through Barry's windswept hair in a paternal motion. Barry nods slightly, wincing when Cisco tries to move his hand away from his battered chest.

The hand he has still over his injury seems to be stuck there, slick with blood and cold, and there's an outline of his dark handprint of the lower-half of the suit. "I'm here," Barry replies hoarsely, throat sore from so much crying and so much heartbreak, but the sound of Barry speaking is enough to cause Joe to leap in joy—his son is okay. Barry's okay.

"Thank God," he murmurs, grabbing ahold of Barry's right shoulder to secure himself, to remind himself that Barry's alive and not going anywhere Cisco's able to tear Barry's hand away from his injury and has to hold in a gag at the mess staring back at him.

He looks to Wells, who's standing guard behind the two with gun in hand, safety off and ready to fire if any blue flashes come near them. "We need Caitlin," he calls, before turning back to Joe next to him and repeating himself, "we need Caitlin. There's nothing I can do. It looks like Zoom phased a fist through his ribs or something."

Joe flinches, turning back to his son in concern. "Son, what happened? Where's Henry?"

Barry's heart constricts at the word, just hearing it causes his stomach to roll and throat to close up. The shadowy look in Barry's eyes panics him. "Zoom killed him, Joe. My dad is dead." The world seems to crank to a stop once the words reach everyone standing there, and Cisco recoils from messing with Barry's wound.

"Oh my God," the engineer mutters, looking up at his friend wretchedly, "Barry I—"

"I could have saved him. If I had just been able to—to _reach_ him . . . God," he trails off, shaking his head.

Joe looks at Cisco and then back to his son, "I'm sorry, son. But don't you dare blame yourself, Bear. It's not your fault." Barry doesn't answer. Joe knows not to push and instead stands up, Cisco following. "Alright son. Come on. Let's get you home."

Joe and Cisco both hold out a hand and Barry takes them, pulling himself upwards and crying out from the pain jolting through his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut as Joe asks if he's okay, to which Barry nods his head. "J-Just get me h-home." Joe and Cisco obey as they help him to the back of the van; Cisco climbing in with him and shutting the door behind them.

Wells passes the gun over to Joe before getting in the driver's seat and taking off. Each bump they hit hurts, but Barry finds sleep in the mist of it somehow and dozes off, eyelids slipping shut as he enters a world that isn't tainted by Zoom.

Not yet.

 _Nice shot, slugger._

"Come on Barry! You can do better than that! Hit it!" Henry threw the fastball as soon as he said it, ten year old Barry swinging the bat and closing his eyes. The baseball collided with the wooden bat with a crack, and Barry opened his eyes, looking all over for the ball—only to discover it had landed a few meters in front of him.

Henry approached his son, grinning radiantly and then patting his shoulder proudly. "Nice shot, slugger. Maybe you can get it a little farther next time?" He chuckles and Barry smiles but then frowns, dropping his bat to the ground.

"I'm never gonna be good at this crap," he mutters, kicking the bat crossly.

"Hey, hey. Slugger, watch the language. Now what's all this boloney about not being good enough? You are amazing at baseball, son, just a little rusty today."

Barry shook his head hastily, "No. I'm never good and you know it. I suck at everything."

Henry exhales, bringing a hand up to wipe at his tired eyes. Getting up eight o'clock sharp on a Saturday to take Barry out for the day and give his wife a break wasn't the greatest idea he's had. He needed his sleep. He silently cursed Mother's Day in the back of his mind. "You don't suck at everything, slugger."

Barry groans, "Yes I do. We've tried football, soccer, volleyball, baseball, dodgeball, _everything_. I'm not good at any of it." Henry scratches the back of his head in thought, looking down at his son carefully.

"You haven't tried track yet," he mutters gingerly, causing Barry to send him a glare. Henry shook his head, holding in a laugh. "Seriously though son—"

"Hey, Allen! Can't even hit a baseball right?" Barry cringes when the taunting voice of Tony Woodward reaches him from across the baseball field, Henry turning to the source of the noise and narrowing his eyes. Tony's smirk is menacing as he looks at Barry, "Maybe—"

"Hey kid!" Henry calls out irately, stepping protectively in front of Barry, "Where's your father at?" Tony recoils at the sound of Henry's tone, taking a step back just as the older man behind him gets off the phone and sticks a hand on his son's shoulder. Henry looks the younger parent up and down, seeing easily where Tony gets his arrogance from. "Hey!"

Tony's dad snaps his attention to Henry, eyes locking with his.

"Keep your goddamn kid away from my son or else I'll kick your ass!"

They both hurry away, seemingly intimidated by Henry's brashness. After they leave, Barry tugs on the hem of Henry's tee-shirt with a smile. Henry looks down inquisitively, "Watch the language, Dad. You wouldn't want Momma to find out." Henry grins wide and laughs, picking up his son and soaring him through the air like a superhero.

 _Your mother and I lo—_

"Bear?" Barry's jarred awake by a hand on his shoulder, snapping his eyes open to see Cisco in front of him and Joe and Wells waiting outside the open doors of the van. "Bear," Joe repeats, "we're here. We're home. Come on now. Let's get you outta there and patched up."

Barry looks to Joe and then back to Cisco who offers his best non-depressing-smile.

"Come on buddy, let's get you out of this crappy van."

Barry nods, and welcomes Cisco's help as he exits the van, and then Wells and Joe each take one armpit and help—half-carry, half-walk—Barry up to the front door. Cisco moves in front of them to open it; and the warmth from inside slams into Barry like a tsunami.

It's staggering and he nearly falls over from the pure wave of _relief_ that knocks into him.

The four hobble into the house and clumsily drop the weary speedster sagely onto the living room couch—causing four more heads to swivel their way. "Caitlin, we need you." Cisco's shaky voice is enough to propel Caitlin, Iris and Jesse into motion as they head Barry's way but Wally stays still; watching the scene before him with unsure eyes.

He notices Henry's absence first. "Where's Henry?"

Joe, Cisco and Wells freeze.

Caitlin side-eyes Iris before the latter looks to her father. "Dad?"

Joe goes to gather his voice and speak but Barry beats him to it, shattering the silence with a bone-chilling, hallow laugh. "He's dead. Zoom—Hunter, Jay, whoever the hell he is—killed him. Phased a hand right through his heart. My dad is dead, just like my mom and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it."

The bitter tone to Barry's voice alarms everyone in the room as Joe looks towards Wally, "Can I speak to you upstairs for a second, Wally?"

They head upstairs; while Jesse and Wells taking a seat at the dining room table to give Barry, Iris, Caitlin and Cisco some room.

Iris runs her hand through Barry's messy hair—soothing it down over and over again, Cisco fiddles with helping by lifting up Barry's shirt and Caitlin busies herself with investigating the speedster's gory injury. Everything's quiet for a while, besides the soft murmurs of voices from the dining room and upstairs, until Caitlin breaks it.

"I'm sorry Barry," she whispers, "but we are going to have to stitch this. Cisco, grab me my bag. Iris, get some towels." Then she looks to the deflated man staring her down halfheartedly. "I'm sorry Barry, but this is going to be a long night."

The anger within Barry outdoes the pain he feels by now. And all Barry can hear are Jay's words pounding through his ears.

 _Let. It. Out._

An hour later—the anger still surpasses the newfound pain and it's all he feels.

* * *

He jerks awake a few hours later, not being able ignore his father dying over and over in his dreams any longer. A loud gasp escapes him and it's enough to jar the sleeping Iris in the chair pulled up to the couch next to him awake, the latter stirring up with a start as she lifts her head and looks worriedly around. Barry stares up at her, Iris smiling tenderly and shushing him with a hand cupping his cheek.

His eyesight is groggy as he tries to focus on her, and only her, in the soundless house before them as her thumb strokes his cheek.

She tugs it away exactly six point seven seconds later.

The only sound disrupting the silence every few moments is the dishwasher running tackily from the kitchen. After sitting still for a few more seconds, Barry tries to move—to sit up—but Iris stops him by moving herself closer and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. The kitchen chair she's sitting on squeaks with protest at her movements.

"Stay put, Bear," she murmurs, "you'll pull the stitches out."

He blinks at her, before directing his sight down to his bare torso. His skin is freckled with dry blood and purple veins, and there's white bandages covering the lower half of his abdomen. Looking back up at her, he flinches at the sudden stab of pain that surges through him.

"Where is everyone?" His voice is scratchy, husky, as his eyes flicker down to her lips and then to her hand still resting on his shoulder. Iris notices his gaze and pulls it back as she sighs.

"Doctor McGee went home shortly after you left. Wells, Jesse, Caitlin and Wally are at the Lab . . . explaining everything to um . . . Wally." Barry gives her a muddled look and can visually see the grief in her eyes when she speaks again. "He saw you flash away, Bear. When you went after Henry." Iris pauses, exhaling once more before continuing. "Dad and Cisco are taking care of Henry."

She looks down at her hands as Barry inspects her. It seems to discomfort her, speaking of the dead, but all Barry feels is rage. Uncontrollable rage, barreling through him like gasoline in a fire. Rage at Jay, rage at her—rage at everything. Iris looks back up at him, fingers fumbling over one another.

"I'm sorry Barry. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve this. You don'tdeserve any of this."

Barry feels something inside of him snap when she says it out loud, something crack and sizzle. Flames suddenly lick at his skin. His brain thunders with every _fuck you_ on the planet. "It's my fault." He voices brashly.

"No," she counters confidently, "it isn't."

Barry smiles, but just faintly. He smiles, but it isn't his. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, smiling grimly. Smiling malevolently. "It is. If I had just been a second faster—if I had just been _faster_ —I could've saved him. I could have saved him." Iris shakes her head, and she can see the rage building within him; just building and building and _building_ but—

"Barry."

"I'm going to kill him."

Her face goes pale. "B-Barry?"

He looks over at her, and his eyes are as black as night for a terrifying moment. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"No, revenge is just what Zoom wants, Barry. If you do that—"

He suddenly flashes out of sight, Iris standing up and turning around to see him upright behind her, breathing heavily. His eyes are still black. "If I do that I'll become like him, right? I'll become him? Well maybe that's what I'm destined to fucking do Iris! I've lost so much and I've tried so damn hard and in the end I just lose some more? I am fucking _sick_ of losing!"

Iris stands still, looking him up and down, frightened but wondering _where the hell is my Barry?_

"You are not him. You will never be him. You are better than that, than him, Barry. You know that." His eyes return to normal but there's red and black dancing in-between his irises, fighting—going to war. She hopes Evil loses. "Barry—"

"Did you know," he interrupts, "that when's there's a fucked up meta-human running around hurting the ones I love, I wish for their death? That I hope I'm fast enough to win? Because I know I'm not fast enough and if I'm not fast enough then I can't protect anyone. So when someone like that is free, I hope I can kill them before they kill me. Or you, Iris. Or Joe. Or Caitlin o-or Cisco. It should have been me! It should have been me, okay? And now . . . now—my dad is dead because, because I-I—"

His words catch in his throat and her heart skips a beat, hoping he's finished; hoping the Evil has lost.

She feels his rage subside—after his words have ended with a bitter undertone—he goes quiet. Iris worries, watching the twitch of his hands carefully. "Barry," she whispers delicately, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of this. You don't deserve any of this, and I would go through hell to change it for you but you still have us. You still have Team Flash. You still have me and I'm not going anywhere."

The moments after her words tick by slowly, like Barry's a bomb she can't disarm and she's waiting for the explosion—for the lash of shards to hit her dead on. But instead he flashes to her and wraps her tightly in his arms. Her own arms snake around his neck as the tears escape, loud and unbearable, and her heart lurches.

"I couldn't save him, Iris," he cries brokenly, "I have superpowers and I couldn't even save my own dad."

He stops because the sobs are upsetting his body so much he can't even talk and he yanks himself away from her to run to the bathroom, towing open the door and making a beeline for the toilet. Iris follows him, crouching down next to him on the floor and running her fingers softly over his shoulders, the muscles of his back, through his hair.

Nothing comes out, and he pulls back a while later, reaching up and slamming the toilet lid back down with so much force the front cracks a little as it collides with the seat.

Then he leans back against the side of the bathtub, burying his face into his hands. Iris slowly moves over towards him, waiting a few minutes before moderately prying his hands away from his face. It's red and bloated from the stress of the last few hours but he still looks as handsome as ever to her. He'll always look handsome to her.

"He's dead because of me. We are all going to be dead because of me, Iris."

But she doesn't accept that, shaking her head and letting go of his hands to cup both of his cheeks.

"No we aren't," she mumbles before kissing him softly on the lips—a kiss that takes his breath away for the seconds it lasts—and then again on the forehead, "because we have the Flash on our side. Because we have you on our side."

She kisses him once more before releasing him and he instantly leans his head on her shoulder, lanky body awkwardly pushed as close to hers as possible in the small room, and Iris simply wraps her arms around him in an attempt to offer as much comfort to him as she can. She holds him like he's the only one left for her, the only one who's able to save the world, the only one she loves.

But as he cries, she isn't sure she's able—she isn't sure that she's enough—to bring him back to her before the darkness encases him completely.


End file.
